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Christmas comes but once a year
and then it's gone again.
Comes and goes and comes and goes -
a little bit like men!

Except that for most men, 'once a year' would be considered a starvation diet...

You have a point!

Red Poppy wrote: Comes and goes and comes and goes -

Comes and goes and come and goes
And where It goes
No one know(e)s

Christmas comes but once a year
and then it's gone again.
Comes and goes and comes and goes -
a little bit like men!

That's why it's best to keep them tied up, . with lots of activities such as painting and fixing things.
Almost every morning I re-break the toaster.

Cate wrote:That's why it's best to keep them tied up, . with lots of activities such as painting and fixing things.
Almost every morning I re-break the toaster.

Oh Cate
Where is your Christmas spirit
surely you could let ' him ' roam free awhile

Okay, tomorrow I won't break the toaster, I'll just have cereal.

Cate wrote:Okay, tomorrow I won't break the toaster, I'll just have cereal.

and that's the difference between our lives- tomorrow, for breakfast, I'll just have a cereal killer.

I thought I made a charming post here about whiskey and Santa in Appalachia, but it seems not to have shown up. boohoo. Trying again...

In Appalachia, there is a tradition such that, after Christmas, the neighbors all go around to each others' houses and help take down the decorations and put Christmas away. They call it Breakin' up Christmas, and they have a little song:

Santa Claus come, Santa Claus gone
Breakin' up Christmas all day long
Christmas come, Christmas gone
Breakin' up Christmas all night long

and as the adventures wear on, going from house to house, they bring out the whiskey, they all get drunk, and the tradition continues into making up verses as you please. For instance:

Brandy wine come, brandy wine gone
Breakin up Christmas all night long
Rooster crows at break of day
Breakin' up Christmas all the way

Your poem initiated a series of neuronal firings that led to a recollection of Breakin' up Christmas. How are you RP?

I'm very well thanks.
Not really missing the leg now that I've got used to the automatic car.

Sorry to hear about the leg, Red Poppy.
We'll just have to pull the other one.

Martine!
What kind of wooden leg was it that wooden float?
Was the hat rack, round which he went, wooden as well?
If he had gone round the hat rack was he a ward of coat?
When he was buried was it a case of one foot in the grave?

when I was a child we had a wooden tree which mum and dad kept in the garden. on our birthdays the family linked arms and danced around it whilst neighbours cheered.

My Grandad had a wooden leg: it wasn't his own, well how could one be born with one?
It came from a chair, given to him by an old "flame" from Norway.
Over the years...decades....the chair survived in the family, until he decided to break it up and set it on fire.
One leg remained, only to be stolen by two youngsters from Liverpool who wrote a song about its capture.
I have identified the culprits, but can't remember their names.
Yet the first lines of their song remains ....

"I once had a girl
or should I say
she once had me"

Andrew.